A World Without Oreos

It all started when Oreo publicly shamed me on Twitter. I had posted a photo of chocolate sandwich cookies that I had eaten and I referred to them as Oreos. They were not Oreos. Oreo told me that, for the whole world to see. I was ashamed I could never show my face again. I moved away, changed my name, deleted my Twitter, and I never bought an Oreo again.

Until one day I become filthy rich under my new identity, I'll buy Oreo and fire everyone in the marketing department and reveal my true identity. I thank all of Oreo for ruining my life. I continue the operation for about another month or two with absolutely no marketing and then I shut it down completely.

Another decade comes and passes and there aren’t any Oreo packages left to be found. If you can find one on Ebay it’s selling at nearly a million dollars. Then, I call a press release and open my vacuum sealed vault and reveal that I still have thousands of Oreo packages. Still good. I’m ready to sell them in select stores for a limited time while supplies last.

All different news networks are there when I open the vault. They see it. It’s beautiful. All those Oreos. They thought they’d never see them again.

And then right before their eyes, the inside of the vault ignites in flames. The last remaining Oreos are destroyed. I pull an Oreo out of my pocket and eat it. I look at the camera, everyone is crying. All I say is “needs some milk,” and then I leave.

I never sell the Oreo name. People make many offers. Many people try to recreate the perfect Oreo knock off.

I’m on Jimmy Kimmel; he’s an old man now, still watched by the nation. He’s asking me questions “Why would you do such a thing?” “Did Oreo really ruin your life that much that you had to ruin the rest of America’s life?” I pull out an Oreo and I eat it. I offer one to Jimmy. He’s baffled. “Y-yes. Yes please I would love one. I haven’t had one in so long. No one has.” I reach in my pocket. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m all out.” I say. “Well not all out, of course, just don’t have any left with me. Perhaps next time.” It’s Jimmy Kimmel’s farewell episode. He’s retiring. There won’t be a next time.

Many months later I’m told I have cancer spread all throughout my body. I’ve protected the recipe for many decades. I’m an old man. I’m the only man left with access to the recipe as far as anyone knows. I’m doing a television interview with Donny Romero. He’s a young late night television show host. He took Jimmy Kimmel’s place. “You’re not looking well. Many say you don’t have long to live.” He tells me. I look out at the audience. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I explain I only have a few weeks left to live. I apologize for the happiness that I’ve taken from many generations of people all throughout the world. All the children who have never gotten to experience the magic of an Oreo. I begin to explain my plans to sell Oreo back to Nabisco so they can resume manufacturing of the cookies. People cheer. The internet is blowing up. Everyone is so excited to try this Oreo cookie that they have only ever dreamed about or can barely even remember the taste of.

Towards the end of the segment Donny shakes my hand and tells me he’s glad I’ve had a change of heart. I pull out an Oreo from my breast pocket and eat it. I cough. “Needs some milk,” I mumble. I look at Donny “Would you like one?” I reach into my breast pocket “Oh I’m sorry it appears I don’t have anymore. Just wait a few months they’ll be in stores again.” I chuckle a bit and mumble something under my breath. “What was that,” Donny asks. “Oh I just said that I was joking. I’ll never sell Oreo to anyone. I’ll die with that recipe.” I walk off stage people are booing. Donny’s camera people try asking me questions on my way out. I just look at the camera and say “Man after that Oreo I need some milk.” And no one ever heard from me again. I die two weeks later at my home in Kansas City. On my body they found Oreo crumbs, but no Oreos on any of my properties. They searched for years but could never find my stash.